I’m a knitter, spinner, and fearless warrior in the coming Zombie Apocalypse. What can I say? I multi-task...

Sunday, February 17, 2008

I Repeat: Really?

I started off pretty well this morning. I got out of bed and that is always a good first step towards having a productive sort of day. I had to crawl my way out of 800 pounds of happy, purring fur to do to it, but I succeeded. The Big, Fluffy Kitty is rather pleased when I fight my way back to consciousness each morning and is rather "enthusiastic" in her celebration of my reanimation.

Everything was going pretty well. I had some coffee. I watched a little TV. I fed the savage, furry beast who was so intent upon killing me with affection. I was dressed and ready to head out for a few quick errands before returning home to begin my weekly housekeeping in earnest.

Note: "Weekly Housekeeping" might be a little misleading. I pretty much just scape a layer off the top of the mess in which I live and call it good. But it's better than nothing...

If I had just stayed home today, I probably would have a working brain right now. I wouldn't have opened the door. I wouldn't have had that piece of paper catch my eye as it fluttered to the floor. I would still be living in blissful ignorance of the stupidity in which I currently exist. And I wouldn't have broken six brain vessels trying to understand it.

But, I did. And there is no getting around it. Maybe when my brain heals, I will have learned a lesson of some sort and will never again read the stuff that the condo association sticks to my door.

For anyone who is new here, let me do a quick rundown of the story. Everyone else just twiddle your thumbs, chat quietly or write letters to your favorite elected official. Or you could knit. That would be good, too.

Incident The First: Letters were taped to the doors of all residents here in this little slice of paradise informing us that we were bad people who did not move our cars in order that the plows might come through on stormy days. In fairness, the plows rarely come through on stormy days and there is really no reason to move our cars. But we were all too scared of the Mighty Parking Powers and began moving our cars with great gusto.

Incident The Second: Letters were taped to the doors of all residents praising our car-moving efforts. We preened. We began moving our cars for no reason whatsoever just so we could win the prize for Best Car Mover.

Incident The Third: On Valentine's Day, residents were treated to a third round of note-taping, this time from the management company. They had some concerns with regard to all the car moving as the plows couldn't maneuver around the plethora vehicles that had been moved to the roadways. Their directions for solving this problem seemed to be that we should continue moving our cars while simultaneously not moving our cars. Certain residents experienced minor brain trauma trying to figure out just what the heck they were supposed to do during the next storm and sleep was lost.

OK. I need everyone back now. This is the new stuff. Thanks for your patience.

Incident The Fourth: On Saturday, February the 17th, mere days after Incident The Third, yet another note appeared on the doors of the now permanently brain damaged residents who are all considering taking the bus to work and selling off their cars for scrap metal. This innocent looking slip of paper contained the minutes from the last annual budget meeting. This meeting took place in late January and well before Incident The Third. The fourth item addressed the snow removal process and the feedback from the company hired to perform said removal...

It says they are pleased with the support the residents have given them and encouraged us to all continue the effort.

That's it. I'm out. I done all I can do. I can't do no more. To spend any more precious time trying to puzzle through this logic loop is going to leave me in a vegetative state.

My head is still spinning. So, does that mean you are to still move your car or just leave it alone? Makes me really glad I live in the woods, miles (or at least 1/2mile) away from my nearest neighbor. (Which happen to be in-laws (or is that out-laws). I really like that sock. Knit more. Read less. (at least condo notes.) cj

About Me

I am a forty-something fiber-freak living in the wilds of Maine. My goals in life include: ridding my home of knitting UFOs, inventing an intraveneous coffee drip and growing old to become the crazy cat lady on my street. You know the one: 10-45 cats, nobody ever really gets a good look at her, just that fleeting glimpse as she screams at the neighborhood children to get off her lawn and about whom local legends abound.